


small gods

by Love_Letter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Footnotes, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Letter/pseuds/Love_Letter
Summary: Those familiar enough with Aziraphale know he is resistant to change. In his defense, changing requires choice, which requires free will, which isn't something angels have-- well, didn’t. Or perhaps they always did.Aziraphale gathers the courage to change his relationship with Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 81





	small gods

**Author's Note:**

> I fought really hard with the footnotes. You can see where they won.

* * *

Free will can be a heavy burden.

When the Earth began, Aziraphale believed that the burden belonged only to humans. He watched them take the blessing of choice away from one another; the action itself revealing the very curse of free will. What can one really choose when one’s life is so caught up in the lives of others?

Aziraphale did a very good job of not thinking about the implications of this dilemma over the millennia. It did not apply to him. He was a servant of Heaven. He knew what he needed to do. He did it. It was not a choice. Choosing wasn’t something angels did.

He could rationalize away the Arrangement.1 Aziraphale did not choose the action-- the blessing or the temptation itself-- he merely decided upon the means of accomplishing it. Surely one would understand, that’s not the same thing at all.

Aziraphale was very good at thinking himself as a means to an end-- until The End, and then, with a mental hurdle not to be made light of, he realized he did have a choice, he did have free will (imagine that!), and he, with full awareness and understanding, stood up to Heaven and Hell on the side of humanity.

He chose to save the world.

Not alone, mind you. He acknowledged the parts that many players had played, each of them making their own choices. He knew in great detail the deeds _Crowley_ had done, to protect Earth and to protect them both.

In the aftermath of everything, the dilemma of free will was beautifully, horrifically, Aziraphale’s very own blessing and curse.

Because he knew he could make choices. Big ones. Ones that mattered.

He knew Crowley could do the same.

And yet, despite that knowledge, nothing changed between them.

* * *

Those familiar enough with Aziraphale2 knew he was resistant to change. In his defense, changing required choice, which required free will, which (see above) was not something angels had-- well, didn’t have. Or perhaps they always did.

The point being, Aziraphale now had something he _wanted_ to change, and that was his relationship with his best friend.

Crowley had no issues with change. He seemed to welcome it. Each decade, a new fashion trend, a new look, a new Crowley. On the outside, at least. His habits never really changed, and so on some level, Aziraphale had taken that to mean Crowley couldn’t make his own choices either-- the ones involving hair and clothing were superfluous-- he couldn’t choose anything real. Not the way humans could.

He re-evaluated that assumption in 1941, after Crowley decided to save his books of prophecy from a certain church bombing.

Crowley could make choices. Aziraphale shied away from making his own.

He didn’t choose to fall in love.

It just happened.

Over thousands of years, most likely. Or in a moment. It was hard to tell. His love of Crowley felt as right and eternal to his heart as his love of humans. It was everything to be his friend, his confidant-- and Aziraphale had let him down. They talked about that, too. Crowley made the choice to forgive him, and though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud, Aziraphale found himself once more in awe of a demon more merciful than the angels he’d believed to be Good.

They were months past that conversation now, lounging in the back room of the bookshop, drinking a bottle of bollinger champagne Aziraphale had been pleasantly surprised to find in his collection. There was no need to get quite as drunk as they’d deemed necessary leading up to the Apocalypse (that wasn’t), but at the end of the day, they rather liked the feeling of it. Aziraphale figured it had something to do with liberation and free will again-- if you were drunk, you weren’t consciously aware of all your words and actions. It was an ancient excuse to do and say as you pleased.

He sipped his champagne, comfortably snug in his usual arm chair, and stared at Crowley. The long, lovely lines of him. The way he moved, almost elegant3, throwing his legs over the back of the sofa and slouching down into the cushions, his head millimeters from hanging off the edge. He took a deep breath, continuing a rant which Aziraphale realized he had not been listening to, too absorbed in the observation of his companion’s form. He tried to focus.

"Humans!” Crowley was saying, voice raised slightly above his usual volume, “They live in a world where the grass continues to be green and the sun rises every day and flowers regularly turn into fruit and what impresses them? Weeping statues. And wine made out of water!” He grabbed the bottle on the floor beside him, struggling to pour another helping into his glass while half inside-down, “As if-- as if the turning of sunlight into wine, by means of vines and grapes and time and enzymes, wasn’t a thousand times more impressive and happened all the time…”4

“Both are miracles in their own right.”

“Pffft.”

By way of his own miracle, he managed not to spill the champagne all over Aziraphale’s antique carpet. “I’m just saying, they don’t get it. We saved the world and they don’t even appreciate it.”

“We didn’t do it for recognition, Crowley.”

“Not sayin’ I need thank _ssss._ ” Ah, there it was, the drunk lisp Aziraphale adored so, “Just want ‘em to take better care of it, is all. Take better care of each other.”

Aziraphale hummed into his glass, reflecting. After a pause, he said, “They’re trying. They’ve already improved so much.”

Crowley either didn’t hear him or ignored him. He was focused intensely on his glass, no doubt mentally debating if he could drink it safely in his current vertical position. He shifted, sitting up almost properly5, then drank.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? How they make their own choices. All the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“They could.” Crowley lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. Aziraphale wavered, “In theory.” He cleared his throat, “What’s that saying? Humans are the masters of their own fate. Making their own choices, creating new realities.”

“Their own gods.”

“Precisely, small gods.”

“Sounds blasphemous. I like it.”

Aziraphale glanced up, and when no lightning cracked down to smite his companion, he continued, “They can be so brave, in the face of the unknown. I wish I could be like them.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I can’t quite put it into words.” That was a lie. Aziraphale knew exactly the words he would borrow to express his worry, ones written by a dear friend in a play years ago: In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. 6

Aziraphale dropped his eyes to stare into his glass, and finding no courage there either, put it down on the ledge of his writing desk. Aziraphale loved Crowley. He suspected the demon felt the same way for him. You see, for Aziraphale, changing was terrifying. There was, of course, the horrible chance Crowley rejected his feelings-- unlikely as it may be. There was a greater chance Crowley returned them, and then what? Could they actually be together after all this time? Could Crowley in real life be as tender as the one who existed within his fantasies, and could he be that angel Crowley always called to across the space between them?

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re good with words.”

“It means, Crowley, that I am miserable with the want of something, and terrified that once I have it, it cannot possibly be what I imagine it to be.”

That gave Crowley pause. He righted his posture, leaning forward to place his glass alongside Aziraphale’s. With a sigh, palm running over his face, he sobered up, golden eyes boring into Aziraphale’s in the low light. “The world is ours now. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you, and if you don’t like it, we’ll get rid of it. No harm done.”

There would be terrible harm done. There was no getting “rid” of his devotion to Crowley. Should things end badly, he would carry those love-worn pieces of his broken heart to the true End. He felt sick at the thought. Closing his eyes, he miracled the alcohol out of his system and blinked them open with slightly more clarity. Even if things went sour, Crowley wouldn’t leave him. He did, in his heart of hearts, believe that.

“Angel?”

This was it. The edge of the cliff. The choice to leap was his. “We’re partners, aren’t we, Crowley?”

He nodded.

Aziraphale moved tentatively forward, across to the sofa, and sat down alongside his friend, heart racing as he prepared for the freefall. “When humans use that term, it can mean many things, and I suppose it does mean those things for us, too. It’s just that,” he swallowed, eyes flickering down to his own lap, “I want it to mean something particular now. Have wanted it for a while, but didn’t think I could choose it. I want to be partners in a domestic way, to live together, to support one another, to love each other.” What a terrible, wonderful sensation, letting the words out, feeling the ground give way beneath his feet, “Oh, Crowley, I want desperately to love you in reality the way I do inside my soul.”

The choice to save him from falling was Crowley’s.

“Aziraphale, look at me.”

He did.

“I want that too.”

Crowley always did save him.

“You do?” He felt breathless. The fall left his body tingling, the adrenalin pounding through his veins.

“‘course I do. Thought you’d never ask.” His brows pinched together, “Wait, you haven’t actually asked anything, have you?”

Aziraphale smiled widely, “Oh, _Crowley_.” He reached out with a surge of confidence to take hold of Crowley’s hands in his own. “Will you be my love?”

Words seemed to get caught in the demon’s throat, “Ngk-- Ang--Aziraphale, you can’t, you, ugh. Don’t say it like that.”

“Does it embarrass you?”

“Yes.”

Flustered was not an expression he’d often seen on Crowley’s face. “Wonderful.”

“Bastard.”

“Fine.” He reconsidered his proposal. “Crowley, will you continue to be my partner in this same-old-new world?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

And just like that, a change had been made. The world didn’t feel different. It simply was. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

“Took you 6000 years.”

“I had a lot of time to think myself out of it. Wasn’t safe, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“And _you_ never asked.”

“I asked you all the time, in every way I could. You know that.”

He did. It was impressive, though, that Crowley himself had known the message was loud and clear. “Fair point.”

They relaxed back into the sofa then, repositioning themselves comfortably. It was strange, sitting near enough that their legs touched, hands clasped together across their laps. A small part of his brain panicked at their close proximity, shouted to move away and create distance. It hadn't gotten the memo they were safe yet. He shushed it.

An old grandfather clock ticked loudly in the silence.

Aziraphale picked up their conversation from earlier, “Amazing humans do it all the time, making these sorts of choices.”

Crowley’s response was to lay his head gently on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his hair ticking at Aziraphale’s chin. “I think it’s because they don’t have 6000 years.”

“Oh.” It did, indeed, take facing what he believed to be his own death to overcome his fears.

“As far as they know, they only get one go. Act now or regret it-- or act now _and_ regret it. Like you said, they’re trying. Some are better at trying than others.”

Crowley understood the humans in action. Aziraphale knew their theory; he knew what he read and what he chose (yes, chose) to see. Crowley had a completely different perspective. He helped Aziraphale to see beyond his own assumptions. He made him think. 

“Crowley, are you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

Crowley picked his head up, turning it to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to choose you every day for the rest of time, and no matter how annoying you are when you overthink bloody _everything_ , I’m going to choose us. Been choosing us for a long time already.”

This was not the Crowley that waxed poetic in his daydreams; this Crowley was real and straightforward in a much more beautiful and authentic way. Aziraphale felt a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll choose you too.” Inclining his head just slightly, he rested their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “Every day.”

“I know you will, angel.”

They made their choice, and outside the bookshop, small gods continued to use their hands to change the world.

* * *

Footnotes:

  1. It was actually Crowley who did the rationalizing for him, in much the same way he did the blessings. As he’d said multiple times, they were still doing what needed to be done. It didn’t matter which of them did it.  [ Click ▲ to return to text. ]
  2. Crowley.  [ ▲ ]
  3. He was only ever “almost elegant.” Snakes are graceful, in their own way, but give them legs… there’s a learning curve. [ ▲ ]



4\.  These thoughts have actually come out of a Terry Pratchett novel. Is it still plagiarism if he’s only talking the words? He doesn’t know. Or care really. He’s a demon. Besides, he doesn't read books.*  [ ▲ ]

5. See footnote 3.  [ ▲ ]

6\. A quote from “Lady Windermere’s Fan: A Play About a Good Woman” by Oscar Wilde, 1892. It stuck with Aziraphale much the same way it did with the humans.  [ ▲ ]

*The book in question is "Small Gods."

This fic was inspired by [this post](https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/615532587501469696/hello-my-friend-and-i-have-been-discussing) from Neil Gaiman, [this prompt](https://twist-an-omen.tumblr.com/post/614278769362059264/hi-once-upon-a-time-in-another-fandom-a) from Tumblr, and the quotes footnoted above.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] small gods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443112) by [Love_Letter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Letter/pseuds/Love_Letter)




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